


Beer o'clock

by DrScout



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrScout/pseuds/DrScout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sniper and a Spy are meeting in a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beer o'clock

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a while ago for a tumblr user, Vangberg, because I think she's nice and adorable, and likes SniperxSpy <3

**Beer o’clock**

 

Dust settled on the battlefield. The setting of the late spring sun colored the sky pink and purple and a fresh wind gently brushed countless imprints of heavy boots from the ground. Dried blood had turned patches of sand dark, but before dawn, the breeze would have scattered the remains of the battle, and an untainted desert would patiently await the mercenaries.

But not before Monday.

On this Friday afternoon, any thought of bloodshed, frustrated yells and victory shouts was pushed away. Devoted fighters as they all were, forgetting about fighting created an empty spot in their minds, which was a welcome excuse to fill it with beer.

 

“This is… the place? The, uh, ‘eavenly spring of good drinks and recreation? Are you sure of that, Monsieur ‘eavy?” Spy wiped his hand on his blue suit. Already from the outside, the bar their Heavy Weapons Guy had insisted to visit this evening, had raised the Spy’s suspicion that this place wasn’t one of the establishments the French man would usually have favored.

The few windows were small and blunt, and Spy doubted that anybody had taken the time to clean them once the building had been finished who knew how many decades ago. The wooden walls reminded him more of a tool shed than a cozy bar – he didn’t even dare to think the word ‘elegant’ in this place presence – and the roof was missing several shingles.

Only reluctantly he had taken the lead, pushing the door open gingerly with two fingers. The door itself didn’t improve his impression. He failed to figure out what the original color of the now dull paint once was, maybe red, maybe orange, maybe even purple or green for all he knew. The wood was splintered in several places, especially around the lock.

“Da.” Satisfied with himself, the Russian shoved the Spy aside.

“Is chair free?” Heavy pointed at an empty chair. There was no doubt, he was in a good mood, his growl low and friendly, well, to those who knew him long enough. Telling apart Heavy’s moods from fierce to mellow was essential to survive in the team, unless one wished to spend an extra hour with a broken jaw in Medic’s office.

It was unfortunate that the poor souls sitting at the table didn’t know any of that.

“We were leaving anyway,” one of the patrons managed to assure while his friends were already taking their leave.

“Thank you, this is kind. Spy, see. Is nice place, with nice people.”

Spy sighed. There went his only hope that maybe, just maybe he could convince his teammate to search for a bar less crowded, and less smelly and loud. It was too late now. With a rather rude than gentle push against Spy’s back, Scout shoved himself into the room, followed by their Engineer and Demoman.

“Outta the way, man! Time I show this place how a real man has a good time!” The young man from Boston slumped onto one of the chairs and put his feet on the table, knocking one half-full beer mug over.

“Careful, lad! Me remembers the last night out well, ye were not one to held yer liquor well at all.” Demoman shoved the Scout’s feet from the table as he walked past him, almost causing him to fall over with his chair.

So Spy could either leave and walk back to the base to spend the night by himself, or he could join the table and witness another one of his teammates’ banter that sooner or later would end with two of them fighting or all of them too drunk to say one coherent sentence.

Displeased with both options, he headed to the bar at the other end of the room, carefully choosing a route as far away from his comrades as possible, before one of them could reach out and pull him onto one of the chairs by his sleeve. One learned by experience.

“What is it?” Grumbling through a thick, black mustache, the barkeeper eyed the masked patron with the same lack of enthusiasm as Spy mustered him.

Spy sat down on one of the three-legged bar stools and took out a handkerchief. Thoroughly, he wiped over the counter until he felt confident enough touching the sticky wood wouldn’t give him a terminal disease even through his gloves.

“I doubt a good, dry red wine is on the menu tonight?” He answered the barkeeper’s bellowing laughter with a disdainful snort. “Then let me ‘ave what makes this place bearable as quick as possible, s’il vous plaites.”

Wasting no more time with him, the barkeeper filled a glass with an yellowish liquid Spy’s nose identified as cheap but strong whiskey. Well, not what he would usually prefer, but it suited this place and would fulfill its purpose efficiently enough.

When he asked for a refill, his head felt already lighter and the smell of smoke, sweat and dirt around him didn’t turn his stomach anymore.

“I’m surprised to see ya in a place like this, mate.”

“This sounds like a bad pick-up line, Sniper.” Spy took a sip from his glass, frowning under his mask. He knew this hoarse voice well enough without demeaning himself to look at the man in the red shirt. They had often enough encountered during the battles.

“Bad, but rarely fails. The next is on me. Barkeep’!” Sniper waved for the man, pointed at the Spy’s glass and held up two fingers.

“Sniper, I do not appreciate this kind of mocker, I am ‘ardly a girl. And I didn’t invite you to sit down next to me.”

“If ya ain’t a girl, I don’t know your permission, mate, right?” Sniper laughed when the Spy glowered at him, and patted him on the back. “Don’t be so serious, mate. Ya know, this isn’t the Ritz, but a bloody fine place to get drunk.”

“Oui, I ‘ave realized that.” Another guest tried to walk past them, giving the Spy a push against his back. The French wrinkled his nose at the stranger’s smell. If that guy was heading towards the bathrooms he obviously had been too late, or rather – the cheap alcohol had been faster on his way back outside. Speaking about restrooms, he wondered if this place even offered any. Although he was wearing gloves, he felt the urge to wash his hands. He decided to never mind that, as he suspected he would leave it dirtier than he entered it.

“If ya feel that uncomfortable, we can continue our lovely conversation outside.”

“Mon dieu, Sniper, you really sound like you are flirting with me when you talk like this!” Considering this as a silly joke from a tipsy enemy, the corner of his mouth switched in slight amusement.

“I am.” In all serious calmness, the Sniper drank from his whiskey.

“I cannot believe you seriously said that!”

“I can’t believe they seriously serve this here. That’s worse than their beer. Anyway,” he brushed the Spy’s appalled outcry aside. “Ya know, it’s a nice night, and I’m in a good mood, and ya need something to lighten ya mood. Win-win.”

“Win-win, pas du tout! Je ne… I mean, I did not know you are… uh, one of… those!”

“Lemme tell ya something. If ya spend days ‘n days and a month traveling the Outback ya ain’t picky anymore.”

“This is not a compliment, Sniper,” Spy sneered under raised eyebrows. Adding a disgruntled “Pah” he once more turned away from the Australian, focusing his attention carefully on savoring the taste of his drink. A gesture serving rather his ego than his taste buds.

“You are a funny guy,” the Sniper grinned, not put off at all by the Spy’s dismissive demeanor.

“I cannot see the joke.”

“Well, ya ain’t really jumping at my offer – yet. But ya ain’t saying nah, and ya gettin’ all huffy thinkin’ ya ain’t a first choice.” He put his glass down and stood up. Walking behind the Spy, he put his hands on the man’s shoulders. He bent down, whispering into the Spy’s ear.

“I’m surprised, mate. Thought ya Europeans are more open to this. It’s late, it’s dark, and we’re drunk. We ain’t getting married, just havin’ some fun among grown-ups.” Keeping his hands in place, he shoved one finger between the mask and the collar of the Spy’s shirt, pleased when he was rewarded with a shudder the second he touched the skin.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Sniper?” If the touch had any effect on him, Spy’s voice didn’t gave it away. Calm and with the same air of indigence he continued savoring his drink as if it was of exquisite taste instead of a blend of cheap grain whiskeys.

“Let me enlighten you. We are enemies. Yes, there is a truce once the daily work is done, but this does not mean that such a – liaison – is appropriate.”

“The less appropriate the more fun, don’t you agree?” The husky chuckle caused another shudder, the Sniper’s warm breath tickling the Spy’s ear. “Or are you -” A sly grin appeared on the Sniper’s face, revealing two rows of white teeth, looking sharp and pointy where splintered edges spoke of a rough past.

“Am I what?” Spy sighed impatiently, not content at all as he felt himself growing restless. There was something in the Sniper’s voice that aggravated him whenever he cursed and growled at the Spy when they fought, but he also couldn’t deny there was something appealing about it, now, in this different situation.

“Are you afraid you’re lacking the experience to satisfy a man? Ya fear ya ain’t not much of a lover when handling a lonesome bushman like me.”

“Pah!”

The Spy slammed his glass onto the table. Half of the remaining liquid spilled over the thin rim, pooling on the wood and soaking the Spy’s glove. He withstand the temptation to spoil his suit as well by wiping off his hand. Twisting around sharply, he shook off the Sniper’s hands, and shove the bar stool aside. The corners of his mouth pulled into a sneer, he rose, he walked past the Sniper without granting him as much as a glance.

He stopped before he crossed half the room.

“What is? Are you coming? Or was this… all hat and no battle?” he called over his shoulder.

Dumbfounded for a second, the Sniper suddenly laughed. For a moment, he had believed the Spy’s display of prim dignity had put an end to his little game.

“Cattle, all hat and no cattle,” he corrected with a smile as he followed the BLU Spy.

“I said that.”

x x x

Spy had headed for the door, but Sniper had seized him by the wrist and pulled him into the other direction. Spy was surprised to see that the location was larger than he had thought. A corridor led away from the counter, past a room that hopefully was meant to be a restroom and not some kind of kitchen, as the Sniper judged from the sharp, beastly smell.

“Come here.” Sniper had reached the place he was looking for. Stumbling after the Australian, they ignored another chamber that had written the word “private” across the door with red paint.

A second later, he found himself in a niche hidden behind a dusty curtain. They knocked over a broom and an empty bucket, but they were far away enough from the noisy crowd, so the ruckus remained unheard.

Sniper shoved him against the wall, fumbling with the buttons of the Spy’s jacket and shirt.

“Oh, I almost feel sorry,” Spy mocked as the Sniper cursed, ripping off one button in the progress.

“Well, I love a bloody challenge, ya know,” he growled, and sealed the Spy’s lips with his own.

The kiss was different from those of a woman, who still were soft and warm when they lost themselves into the passion. The Sniper’s lips were rough and chapped from spending his days outside in the dry and sandy desert. His mouth was hot, his tongue tasted bitter, of smoke and alcohol. The stinging flavor of the whiskey turned smooth and pleasant.

Warm and calloused fingers found finally their way beneath the Spy’s shirt, causing a shiver in the skinny man when they felt over his hollow stomach and his ribs.

“Pretty skinny, bet ya lighter than a woman.”

Spy’s protest was stifled by another kiss, deeper even, and urgent. The Sniper pressed his groin against the Spy, his excitement impossible to ignore. Spy swallowed a groan, irritated with himself, how willingly his body reacted as he turned hard. Yet, it displeased him that Sniper had taken control so easily, as if he really saw him as some woman who had coyly waited to be seduced by his long, eager fingers and his hungry mouth.

It was time to turn the tables. How difficult could it be, to seduce a man, what he was lacking in one place he was having in another. He had known how to please a cock with his hands since the first time he had seen their neighbor’s daughter naked, back then in Paris, when he was a little boy.

He didn’t waste much time with the Sniper’s shirt, and felt for his belt. Dizzy from alcohol and the heat from the Sniper’s, he didn’t hesitate to open it and his pants. The man’s cock was stiff and hot through the underwear. Spy let his fingertips glide with firm but gentle pressure over the stretched fabric, feeling the increasing heat as he reached the head.

Spy grinned when the Sniper broke the kiss and placed his forehead against the wall, next to the Spy’s ear. A low growl escaped the Australian’s throat.

'Easy and horny,' Spy rejoiced at the success, his own cock hardening even more when his fingers felt the wetness through the fabric. Shoving the Sniper just enough away from him to get easier access to the length, Spy's hand closed around it and the cloth between his fingers and the soft skin. He stroke it slowly, his thumb rubbing over the head.

“Sure it’s the first time ya’re pleasing another man?” Sniper groaned in his ear, sending a tingle through Spy’s body.

“Oh, let’s say it is not the first dick I touch, mon cher Sniper,” he teased, letting his short fingernail scratch over the hard cock.

“What the… oh!” Sniper understood, giving another chuckle that turned into a moan when Spy pushed down his pants, finally wrapping his fingers around the bare cock. Holding the long, hard length in his hand was strangely familiar, yet different from touching himself, his fingertips were a lot more sensible feeling the skin of somebody else. Sniper’s skin seemed softer, the heat stronger, and when he continued to stroke him, he thought he felt the blood pulsating through the veins under his palm.

Sniper had stopped caressing the Spy. His body tensed. He had underestimated the Spy’s skill when he had expected a fun and easy game that was supposed to turn the French into a trembling, lustful mess that would beg for his cock. Now he had to fear that he would be the one begging, to urge Spy on to go faster. Well, he had never been a sore loser, and this was a consolation prize that certainly was nothing to sneeze at.

He gave in, letting Spy to have his way with his cock.

Absently, his teeth tore at the seam of the Spy’s mask. Unintentionally, he was biting and pulling at the skin of the man’s throat, which was answered with a hiss that spoke more of pleasure than pain. The muscles of Sniper’s stomach tensed. The tingling feeling turned into the promising ache of soon release.

“My, it is late.”

“What?” His mind returned too abruptly from the lightness that filled it. The delightful touches stopped. A chill rushed down his spine and he trembled. He was so close, so very close, but the last missing stroke didn’t come.

“It is time to go. I do not want to wait until the Scout throws up. I am well able to forgo walking home with him smelling like a nasty drunkard taken out of the gutter.” With a low chuckle, the Spy stepped from behind the curtain into the corridor, smirking as he buttoned his shirt and jacked. Hopefully, the others wouldn’t miss that one button was missing. Well, he should find an easy explanation for that.

“Damn ya, ya bloody tease… what about you? Like ya ain’t horny like a cat in heat!”

“My, of course, I am not a cat, but a tomcat. And horny? Delightfully aroused by a filthy bushman? Please!”

“Damn…” If he ran after him now he would stumble over his own pants, and if he tried to pull them up now, his painfully hard cock would still be too prominent to be unnoticed if he followed the Spy into the seating area.

“I’ll get back at you for that, I tell ya, ya bloody wanker!” he called after him.

 

“Delightful wanker,” Spy corrected him with a smug grin. This had been surprisingly amusing. “And I’m curious if you are a man true to your word. We meet on the battlefield, bushman!” There was a lot more potential to the game, no need to rush it. Sniper, guessing the Spy’s thought, couldn’t help but agree.


End file.
